Oracus struggled to sleep that night, and the few times he did drift he was plagued by unpleasant dreams. Maybe it had been wise of Garrin not to answer his questions about Pharia, because now Oracus wished he hadn’t listened to Elnir. Talking to the old man hadn’t satisfied his curiosity as he’d hoped, it had just made him feel anxious instead.

The stories that Elnir told seemed farfetched, but somehow believable, and Oracus could find no reason to disbelieve him, even with Elnir being known as the crackpot village storyteller. But surely Oracus would have found out before now if there were magical powers and creatures of fantasy around Pharia. Or maybe he wouldn’t.

Oracus untangled himself from the sheets of his bed. It was long before the sun was due to rise but he needed to walk while he thought. He dressed and left the house quietly, not wanting to wake his father, and proceeded down the street towards the forest. He had often been into the forest to walk and hunt, even at night. But tonight it felt different somehow, like an uneasiness lingered within it. And the moment Oracus stepped between the trees, the hairs on his neck stood and he felt the eyes of the creatures in the branches above glaring at him with mistrust.

For a second, Elnir’s stories left Oracus’s mind and he considered returning home; never had he felt such uncertainty. There was a cold gust of wind that rustled the leaves overhead and the crowing of a bird that was strangely unfamiliar to him. But with a defiant shake of his head, he pressed on into the forest until the path fell into thick undergrowth and dense shrubbery.

Soon enough, the unusual feel of the forest was forgotten and Oracus’s thoughts of Pharia began to battle with themselves again. Had Elnir been truthful in his tales, or did he just earn money from the stupid, the curious and the gullible as Garrin had warned? Maybe his stories were an exaggerated truth where the powers and the fairy-tale creatures were made up, but the maniacal King Jowra was real. Oracus’s uneasiness became fright as he imagined a tyrannous man with a sword slaying everyone in his path. He wanted to believe that Thessley was safe, but ultimately, whether magic existed or not, it was utterly defenceless against a powerful King who was intent on destroying it. And what would become of his father and friends if that were to happen? There was nobody to protect them, and nobody to save them should the worst happen.

Horrific visions suddenly burst into Oracus’s thoughts and he found himself struggling to breathe. He saw his father fall dead at the feet of merciless soldiers and he watched Garrin drop to his knees and beg for his life to be spared. He heard the screams of terrified women and children, and saw fires and chaos devastate Thessley until it was nothing more than rubble and ash underfoot. Oracus screamed into the night as pain immersed his entire body and he dropped helplessly to the floor. A world of despairing darkness flashed past his eyes, and unbearable agony caused him to convulse on the ground. Then, as calm washed over his fragile frame, he opened his eyes and wondered if death had released him.

He was standing now, and the forest was no longer dark. In fact, it was lighter than Oracus had ever known. He squinted blindly for a moment before his eyes adjusted to a woman standing in front of him. The shock of her sudden appearance made him step backwards, but then he gaped at her angelic beauty. The woman was tall and slender with flowing blonde hair and blue eyes that glistened within her beautiful but ageing face. Her white robe, which was short enough to reveal bare feet beneath it, matched the brightness of the light around her. With a caring smile, she moved delicately towards Oracus and placed a warm hand on his cheek. Her soft fingertips caressed his skin and she held his gaze for a moment. Then a teardrop fell from her eye and her smile was gone.

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A deafening clap of thunder suddenly ripped Oracus from his dream. The forest was dark once again and the glow of the woman was nowhere to be seen. Lightning flashed overhead, and rain fell in sheets onto a sodden forest floor. Oracus was lying alone in a puddle on the edge of a clearing, with a dull pain throbbing in his muscles and the cold rain biting at his skin. He tried to remember how he had got there and wondered how long he had been unconscious for. And he briefly considered who the woman had been.

Another louder clap of thunder made him look up at the sky – it was scarred by white bolts of lightning and purple flashes. And there, between the flashes, a single orange star glided across the black canvas. From where he lay, Oracus marvelled at the star and felt curiosity take over him. More flashes of lightning came and then the star appeared to change direction. Oracus twisted his body to observe the star’s movements, but then he yelled out as it became larger and brighter, and whistled towards the clearing at incredible speed.

With a crash that shook the forest floor and sent earth flying in every direction, the star collided with the ground. Oracus threw up his hands to protect his head, and yelled until the ground ceased to quake. When he felt that it was safe to look, he peered through his fingers and stumbled to his feet.

What had landed before him made him stare in disbelief. It was an object of such a peculiar oval shape that he wondered if it could even be a star. It was more like a rock that had been carved and polished, and then dropped from the sky. But running through the rock were pulsating veins of amber that radiated warmth like the log fire in Oracus’s house.

Oracus now had more concerns than when he had started his walk in the forest. Not only was he worried about Elnir’s stories of the King, he was scared for his own immediate safety too. All these strange occurrences couldn’t just be mere coincidence – the agony he had endured when imagining Thessley’s destruction, the woman he had dreamed about, the rock that had fallen from the sky and was now glowing in front of him. Even the air of the forest had felt different when he first entered it.

Oracus wished he was back at home and wrapped up in a blanket on his comfortable bed. The rain continued to fall, and the flashes of lightning repeatedly lit up the sky. He was cold, wet and scared, with anxiety brewing in his bones. He needed to leave the forest and get far away from the clearing.

But when he turned to escape, a loud bang echoed in the darkness and a blinding silver light escaped from a crack in the centre of the rock. Oracus shielded his eyes until the brightness had dimmed, and then he noticed that the rock had broken in half. Lying between the pieces was a creature unlike anything he had ever seen before; it was a Lion cub as small and fragile as a newborn, but with silver metal fur instead of golden. Despite the torrential rain, it lifted its tiny head and searched for Oracus with its yellow eyes. Suddenly, the storm above ceased and silence swept over the clearing. In that moment, Oracus realised he was no longer scared or anxious, but fascinated.

Without taking his eyes off it, he slowly approached the cub until he was just an arm’s length away. “It’s okay,” he whispered comfortingly. “I won’t hurt you.” He knelt and reached out a steady hand until his fingertips touched its head. “I’ll look after you now,” he reassured.

For a short time, the Lion cub did nothing. But then it pressed its head into the palm of Oracus’s hand and purred quietly. In that instant, the silence of the forest ended and the rain began to fall again.